Ginsberg is easily one of my favorite poets, and one of my biggest inspirations as a writer. Been looking forward to this film for a while — and it looks pretty great.
Poem published by Like Birds Lit
Exciting stuff.
The online lit mag Like Birds Lit has published my poem “A Bar in Wixom, Michigan on a Tuesday Night.”
Check it out here.
New poem: “Patty”
Her smile makes me ache;
those eyes like galaxies – wanting and
hungry – portals into another
place and time. In the rain
I hold her close our hands
tangled we kiss electric.
She is Hope, evidence
of something more.
‘Impossible Monsters’ excerpt du jour: “Anthony”
Another day, another excerpt from my currently-seeking-publication novel Impossible Monsters. Again, I present to you the lovable curmudgeon, Anthony.
Enjoy.
—
ANTHONY
Three in the afternoon and it’s sunny out and sitting at a Starbucks on High Street with my sunglasses on. Head feels clear for once, no pain in my body, anywhere. Finally. Scratching on a notepad, sitting in the upper level at a table that extends across the large window that looks down onto the street. Leering at those unlucky enough to fall into my line of sight. Sucking on an iced coffee and picking at a piece of cake that looked good but once I bit into it I was instantly turned off by the cranberries. Thinking about a lot of things. There’s a pub across from the place called Will-O-The-Wisp which sounds familiar but I can’t remember if I’ve been there or not. Next to the pub is a paper store called Pulp which makes me think of the song “Common People” which makes me think of the line “She told me that her Dad was loaded / I said ‘In that case I’ll have a rum and coca-cola’” which makes me smile. Today, I think, will be good. Decide my goal for the day will be to get caught up on homework. To get so far ahead I won’t fall behind again. Just can’t, I reason. Look down at the notepad and see that I’ve been doodling the whole time I’ve been daydreaming and there are little screaming stickmen all over the paper but no stickwomen. There’s a stickman tied to what looks like a cross and supposedly I’ve drawn flames around him. Talk about a way to go. This makes me smile again.
Look back outside and see a boy I met at a party during welcome week named Felix, Austrian or Australian, I can’t remember. Austrian, I think. His English was impeccable and we talked to each other a bit at the pub we were at but I don’t remember which pub it was. He wore a rugby-type shirt that night, I remember. Dark blue. Studies engineering, is nineteen like me. Long blonde hair combed back and he really could be a model. I remember calling Deirdre about him, actually. Tilt the sunglasses up and rest them on my forehead and watch him talk to a scraggly and witchy looking girl with wild bushy hair. He’s wearing tight jeans and ankle boots and a button down shirt tucked in and he looks very GQ. He’s carrying a satchel bag, leather. Find myself beaming and just studying the way he interacts with her, the way he looks past her while she groans on about whatever it is she’s groaning on about. The way he takes his left boot and itches the back of his right leg with it, then repeats it with the right itching the left. Boredom. Could recognize it anywhere. Practically leaning over the thin table with my nose almost on the glass looking down and suddenly he looks up and sees me. Cups a hand over his eyes like a visor and sees me but it takes a second for him to realize he knows me from somewhere and when he does he smiles real big and I remember I liked that his teeth were so white. He waves a bit then holds up a finger to tell me he’ll be a minute and I just sort of wave back and slink back into my seat, unsure if that was the reaction I was going for. Look around behind me and see only a few tables filled with students, the rest empty and stained with coffee spills. Adjust my clothes. Peer back down and they’re still talking. Foot starts tapping of its own accord and I start doodling again and find myself drawing a stickman with an axe chopping the head off another stickman and then a family of stickmen crying nearby with lines coming out from their heads representing their anguish. Smile. Feel a buzz in my pocket, jolting me stiff. Take my phone out and don’t recognize the number but know it’s from Chicago so I answer.
Continue reading ‘Impossible Monsters’ excerpt du jour: “Anthony”
Two poems posted on Year Zero Writers
If you’re interested, two of my poems are up over at Year Zero Writers – “My Stylist at Supercuts” and “Recurring Dream.”
Find them here. Enjoy.
Poem: Ode to Bukowski
I want so much to be like Chuck
finding my salvation at the bottom of a bottle and
scoring leftover prescription pills from friends of friends, but
I fall short and can’t quite manage to recreate his gritty realism
and I wonder if it’s because I’ve
never had the struggles he did, the crippling
alcoholism, the bouts with depression
the whores at the ready their fingers painted brightly
the long walks and the mornings after, the
biting migraines chewing away at you slowly
the only salvation
the words creeping out of your pen
onto the motel stationary,
your thoughts
the only sanity you have left.
Short story: “The Mating Habits of College Girls”
Storycraft Challenge – Dialogue
So, having been pointed in the direction of Storycraft by my good friend Leah Petersen, which posts weekly writing challenges, I decided to try it out. The rules for this week’s challenge:
Write us a piece which is a dialogue between at LEAST 3 characters, using ONLY dialogue but for an allowance of 1 tag per character. The challenge is to make your characters’ dialogue distinct enough not to need any more than those tags to: a) know who is speaking and; b) learn something about each character. Don’t forget: conflict builds character in writing, as well as life!
My entry is posted below. Enjoy! (BTW, find Storycraft on Twitter here.)
—
BRAINDEAD
“Hey, what’re you looking for, man?” Tom said.
“My book.”
“What book?”
“My chemistry book.”
“It’s not in the closet, bro.”
“Uh, how do you know?
“Because, like, why would your chemistry book be in the closet? Doesn’t make any sense.”
“He’s right, Ryan. I haven’t seen it in the closet either.”
“No offense, Jill, but why would you be in our closet in the first place?”
“Be nice, man. She’s just trying to help out. Right, babe?”
“Right. I just meant I haven’t seen it in there, when I was looking for stuff.”
“But you guys are baked on the futon all day every day. You could be sitting on the book for all you know.”
“Doubtful.”
“What’s doubtful, babe?”
“That we’re sitting on the book, like Ryan said. I mean, we’d feel it, wouldn’t we? Like…it’d feel like a lump or something, on our butts?”
“Probably, babe.”
“Don’t either of you have class or something?”
“Depends.”
“On what?” Ryan said.
“What day is it?”
“Monday. It’s Monday.”
“No, no class.”
“What about you, Jill?”
“Maybe?”
“You don’t know if you have class?”
“Tom and I are in the same classes, mostly. So if he doesn’t have class, I guess I don’t either.”
“But babe, you also have that Freshman writing class, remember?”
“You have a freshman writing class…as a Junior?”
“Not her fault, bro. Tell him, babe.”
“Yeah, I had mono, like, almost all of Freshman year. But not from kissing anyone. I got it from my roommate, Jules.”
“I wish you got it from kissing her, babe.”
“Yeah, right, you wish.”
“I know, I just said I wish.”
“Oh, ha. Right.”
“Well, as riveting as it is hearing about your fantasies, Tom, I need to find that book. I had notes written in the margins. Stuff for the midterm.”
“Why didn’t you write the notes on paper, bro? Or use a computer?”
“Yeah, you should use a computer! That way you can’t lose the paper you wrote it in,” Jill said.
“What if the computer dies?”
“Shit. Didn’t think about that.”
“Oh, yeah, but bro…you could back your files up, on one of those…one of things.”
“What things?”
“One of those…external things.”
“External hard drive?”
“Yup, one of those.”
“Look, I like taking notes, with a pencil, and I had to scribble something down in my book for the test. Thus, I need to find the book.”
“Couldn’t you ask your professor to tell you the stuff again, the stuff you’re missing?”
“No, Jill. He’s already cranky all the time, and in a class of 200 people, I’d feel like a real idiot asking him to repeat anything. Plus he’d probably make fun of me in front of everyone.”
“Bummer, dude.”
“Yeah, real bummer, Ryan. Sorry.”
“It’s fine, I just wish I could find this damn—”
“Oh, shit, bro! I know where you book is.”
“You do? Where?”
“I’m using it to prop my desk up. Jill and I were playing flip cup the other day and the desk was uneven.”
“Oh, right! I remember! We had so much fun!”
“You were playing flip cup on your tiny desk in our dorm room, and you used my book as some sort of leveling agent?”
“Yeah, man. It was a blast. Want me to let you know next time we do it?”
“Yes, please.”
“Done and done.”
Poem: To the Guy Blasting Music from His Car at 2AM Outside My Window
It’s the thumping of the
bass that wakes me, makes me
stir from an already restless
sleep, so I peek out of my
blinds into the dimly lit parking lot
searching for the source of the
deafening thumps, finding an
idling Chevy Impala parked under
the twisted oak between a mid-90s
Toyota Corolla and a beat-up
Harley Roadster. My eyes
adjust to the dark and I see the
culprit, nothing but a hulking shadow
seated in the driver’s seat the
blue glow from a cell phone
illuminating only the smallest
slice of his face. He bobs
his head to the music which is
nothing but white noise to me now
–no discernible beat or rhythm–
and I swear I can see him look
right at me then smile like
it’s all one big joke.
Bathroom Graffiti – Bier Stube | Toledo, OH | 6.11.2010
(submitted by Nate A.)
